Misfire
by infantblue
Summary: It's hard being in love with your best friend when you keep screwing everything up. SoMa. Canon.


**Summary:** It's hard being in love with your best friend when you keep screwing everything up. SoMa. Canon.

* * *

 **misfire**

 _She is a soldier, and he is just another open wound._

* * *

It stops being enough when he's fifteen.

 **i.**

Soul wakes up soaked in sweat.

His chest is heaving; his lungs feel compressed into paper. He stares at the indented patterns on the ceiling and tries to remind himself that it was just a dream, that it wasn't real, that it never happened—and yet, his heart won't slow down to its semi-regular rhythm.

It's been two weeks since the Battle on the Moon and these nightmares haven't been going away. Even worse, they aren't about the final fight against Asura or the darkness and fear that the kishin tried to impose on them.

No, he dreams about the Book of Eibon. About the Sloth Chapter.

About Maka… and Giriko.

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees it: the obsessive, maniacal man pinning his meister down, hissing cruel promises to make her scream in the worst possible ways—except this time, Soul isn't able to save her. He's chained down, trapped. Forced to watch as Giriko strips her down and _fucks_ her, tears into her, makes her cry, makes her bleed, rapes her bloody, and then _kills_ her. Giriko carves out her soul and kills her, right in front of him, and Soul isn't able to do a damn thing.

It's the worst kind of torture, watching the girl he loves get hurt by the hands of someone else. You'd think he'd be used to it by now with the amount of times she gets injured using him as a weapon, but every close call still kills Soul a little bit, deep inside.

He rubs his eyes. Mutters a curse to the quiet night air. Knowing he isn't going to get anymore sleep tonight, he claws to his feet and stumbles out of his room, down the hall to the kitchen, craving an ice-cold glass of water to wake him the fuck up.

Just as he crosses the living room, he stubs his toe on something thick and hard. Muffling a curse, Soul jumps and nearly falls over, swearing over and over under his breath so he doesn't wake Maka—until his eyes adjust and he realize just what it is he nearly lost his foot over.

A book.

His rage burns.

He pivots on his heel to stomp down the hall so he can barge into Maka's room and yell at her for leaving her fucking huge-ass novels around—why does she get to nag him about keeping the apartment clean if she's going to leave a mess all over the damn floor?—and he tells himself that he's _really_ angry, that he's not relieved at the excuse to wake her now, to see her flushed face as she argues with him over nothing, yelling and grumbling and so very much alive.

Then he catches sight of blond hair on the sofa.

Soul freezes. Maka is curled up on the couch, wrapped up in a light fleece blanket and breathing steadily as her cheek presses against the cushion. Her pale hair is loose and tumbles down into the cracks like a waterfall, and her lips are slightly parted, eyes closed, as she fades away in dreamland.

Did she fall asleep reading out here? But why are the lights off? Why hasn't she moved to her room?

All of the false rage and pent-up anxiety following his nightmare immediately vanish. Just seeing her here, so quiet and soft in the cover of sleep, makes everything else in the universe disappear.

Exhaling deeply, Soul bends down in front of her and gently brushes his hand against her cheek. His long fingers and oversized palm look massive next to her delicate features. She's always been the tiniest thing and his growth spurt makes her feel even smaller.

"Maka," he murmurs. "Maka, wake up."

She doesn't even stir.

With a quiet breath, Soul slides his arms underneath her and carefully lifts her in his arms. She's so small, so damn breakable. Even wrapped in a blanket of warmth, he can still feel all the edges of her petite frame digging into him like a reminder, each indented rib and ridge of her spine taunting him with how easy it would be for someone to hurt her.

His grip tightens.

He manages to lay her in her bed, about to pull the covers over her, when she finally stirs. She always frowns first before she wakes, a subtle furrow of her brows before her eyes blink into awareness. Even in the dark, the green of her gaze is startling enough that his breath catches.

"H-hey," he stutters when she looks at him in confusion. "Uh, sorry. You fell asleep on the couch. I was just bringing you back to bed."

"Oh." Her gaze softens. "You're always taking care of me, aren't you."

Soul is very, very grateful that all the lights are off so she can't see his blush. "Go back to sleep, Maka. We'll talk tomorrow."

"Wait." She grabs his sleeve before he can pull away. "Soul, I… Do you want to stay?"

He startles. "What?"

This time, she's the one blushing. He can feel it rather than see it, a soothing warmth in his core that lights him from the inside out. "I just… I know you haven't been sleeping well." When he stiffens and tries to pull away, she tightens her grip on her shirt and rushes on to add, "I'm not trying to pry or intrude or anything, I promise! I can just feel it, every night for weeks, I can feel how much you're struggling, and I've been giving you space and waiting for you to come talk to me about it on your own instead of sneaking into the kitchen for water without word, but you haven't, and so I thought—I mean, I just wanted you to know—" She breaks off, and swallows, and tries to hurry through other half-assed explanations, but he doesn't need it. With a sharp inhale, he understands.

She'd been sleeping on the couch tonight because of _him_. Because she was worried about him. Because she wanted to make sure she was there this time when he got up before the sun so he would have the option to talk to her about it without seeming like she was prying too much into his business.

His chest is warm. So warm. But this time, not for bad reasons.

Maka is still trying to stumble her way through her words, so embarrassed and shy for someone normally so smart and fearless—it's fucking adorable. He puts her out of her misery with a finger against her lips, effectively quieting her.

"You sure I can stay?" he whispers.

Even in the darkness, he knows she's bright red as she folds her blanket aside and slides over. Avoiding his gaze, she mumbles, "I wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean it."

That night, Soul sleeps better than he has in his entire life, and he wakes up with Maka in his arms, one leg strewn over his and her head resting on his chest.

The next day, after getting ready for bed, Maka's eyes beckon him wordlessly into her bedroom with a silent invitation he couldn't decline if he wanted to.

Over the next few months, they stop using his bed at all.

* * *

Becoming the Last Death Scythe and the new Lord Death's personal weapon has a lot of perks, but it also means there are a lot of changes that Soul barely knows how to deal with. The first of which being his meister.

Or, now, _one_ of his meisters.

At first, the transition is fun. Maka trains with Soul and Kid so she can give the new Lord Death tips and tricks on how to efficiently wield a scythe, and she beams with pride every time they do something right, which thoroughly embarrasses Soul and seems to amuse Kid, though he rarely shows it.

Kid becomes more and more serious with each passing day following his father's death. Soul and Maka both have an unspoken agreement to make him enjoy himself as much as possible during their sessions together.

Unfortunately, that doesn't last long. Kid is too talented not to pick up the basics quickly. When Maka stops appearing for their daily training sessions, Soul realizes just how much of an effect she had on his enjoyment of practicing drills.

Of course, being a reaper with great soul perception, Kid is a formidable partner and he and Soul work very well together, but it's not the same. Maka's been his only partner ever since he came to the DWMA—his only partner at all—and now he has to be shared between two equally strong but incredibly different meisters, and there don't seem to be enough minutes in a day to see them both.

Maka assures him that it's okay, that things are just hectic while they're trying to set a routine, that they'll work it out. So what if sometimes he has to cancel missions with Maka last minute because his duties as the new Lord Death's weapon precede everything else? So what if they are rarely able to take jobs together anymore and Maka is left weaponless during most school days thanks to his new priorities? So what if she can't work as much as she wants to now that her weapon is constantly busy?

She says it's okay. They'll work it out. He's still her weapon and they both adamantly refuse to let that change.

He should've known better.

After all, you can't have your cake and eat it, too.

* * *

He messes up more than he doesn't.

 **ii.**

They're at the park, like two normal friends who tend to hang out together when the weather is nice and they realize they need more vitamin D to keep away post-war depression.

At least, Soul _tells_ himself it's normal that his head is in her lap while she leans against a tree, reading a book with one hand and playing with his hair with the other.

Ever since they started sleeping together— _actually_ sleeping together, nothing more, despite how much his needy boner tries to beg otherwise—they've been a lot closer, and they were always close to start with. In the past, they'd often shared bed on extended missions, didn't think twice about leaning against the other while resting or taking a five-minute nap, always hung out together, and didn't hesitate to hold hands during fights or when they needed to stick together. It was normal to them; it was natural, like breathing.

Now, Soul will catch himself reaching for her hand when they're walking down the street or he'll groan and complain about being tired on campus while wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in her hair from behind.

Now, he can barely go an hour in her presence without initiating some form of physical contact, whether it's a causal brush of the knees as they sit side by side or brushing her hair from her face when she's so focused on her homework that a few stray strands will fall from her braid.

(He'll never admit to her that he misses the pigtails, but she does look damn cute in a braid. Especially when she lets him do it for her.)

He's trying not to overanalyze the progression of their non-relationship when a dark blur appears out of nowhere, straight towards Maka's head. His hand shoots out before he can realize he transformed his arm into a blade, and the basketball is pierced through the core with a _pop_ , deflating instantly and hanging off his transformed arm like a droopy frown.

Maka blinks, looking adorably confused as her gaze lifts from her book. "What just happened?"

"Aww maaaan," Black Star groans from the basketball court, throwing his hands up in frustration. "What the hell, Soul. Did you have to fucking pop it?"

Soul glares. "Sorry if my instincts prevented you from making a pancake of my meister's goddamn face."

"Better Maka's hard-ass head than the ball," Black Star grumbles, which makes Soul growl. "What the hell's up with you two, anyway? You've been acting awfully cozy as of late, and you haven't played a single round of basketball with us since you got here."

"They're probably just tired," Tsubaki jumps in at their defense, shooting her partner a worried look that he doesn't seem to notice.

"Yeah, because they've been staying up all night doing something else if you know what I mean." Black Star cackles. "Admit it. You two are screwing. It's only about time. We all know you're madly in love."

Tsubaki gasps. "Black Star!"

Soul's face burns bright red as he jumps to his feet, nearly knocking Maka's book out of her hands in the process. "You're kidding, right? Please," he scoffs, his automatic defensive response when someone tries to imply he has feelings for his meister. _Deny it, deny it, deny it, don't let them find out_ … "As if I'd ever go for a flat-chested girl with zero sex appeal like Maka. You couldn't pay me enough."

Tsubaki flinches, and Liz smacks a hand against her forehead and groans out loud.

Feeling movement behind him, Soul spins around to see that Maka has also gotten to her feet. Her book is clutched to her chest as she stares at the ground, refusing to look at anyone, and the expression on her face _burns_ him.

"You're right, Tsubaki; I am a little tired." She forces a smile. "I think I'm gonna head back now."

Soul tries not to panic as he stares at her, feeling something is wrong, so wrong, he messed up, what did he _do_? "Wait, let me—"

Maka flinches away from the hand he reaches towards her, stepping back so quickly that she almost trips over her own feet. "No, it's okay—I just—um—" She averts her gaze too late, and Soul feels it like a punch to the gut when he sees her tears as she blurts out, "I'll see you later!" before whirling around and running off into the distance.

What the hell just happened?

Soul stares after her in stunned silence, one hand still extended from when he tried to grab hers. He stares, and stares, and stares—unable to comprehend anything, to accept the fact that his stupid, stupid mouth did something horrible and unforgiveable and he fucking _made Maka cry_ —goddammit—

"Shit, you're more of an idiot than I realized," Black Star says, and the irony of that statement—coupled by the fact that Soul is wound up so tight from seeing the strong, selfless, independent Maka Albarn cry that he wants to burn the fucking world—makes Soul spin around, ready to march up to his so-called friend and deck him across his ugly ass face.

Liz beats him to it. "Damn it, Black Star!" She grabs his ear in a vice grip, making him howl. "Why'd you have to go and say something?"

"Ow ow OW! LET ME GO! How dare you touch your god like this?!"

Black Star's next yowl is evidence that Liz is definitely not ready to let him go. "You need to learn how to keep your big mouth shut," she hisses.

"Yeah!" Soul agrees furiously. "What the hell is your—?"

"Oh, don't even get me fucking started on you," Liz snarls, whirling on him, and Soul is suddenly glad he's out of grabbing range because he definitely does not want her pinching claws anywhere near him when she looks like this. "What are you, ten? I can't believe you deflected back to childish pre-teen behavior after all you two have been through together!"

Soul bristles. "I didn't even know Maka when I was ten. We met when—"

"UUUUGHHHHH!" Liz cries, and in her anger, she throws her arms up, releasing Black Star, who scurries away from her so fast it'd be comical in any other situation. "Are you freaking _kidding_ me?!"

"Wow, you're dumb," Patty giggles.

Being called out on his stupidity by two of the most airheaded people he knows within five minutes of each other is not good for his already overflowing temper. "What are you getting so worked up about?" Soul says defensively. "This has nothing to do with you."

"It does when I have to watch you and Maka dance around each other like idiots because you're too much of a coward to admit you like her and she's too insecure about the way you berate her to see through your childish shit!"

Soul nearly stops breathing. "Are you saying Maka likes me?"

This time it's Kid who smacks a hand against his forehead. "You really are an imbecile, aren't you?"

Liz looks about ready to burst. "The whole will-you-won't-you charade was cute about a year ago, but not now, and certainly not after you two basically saved the freaking world together. If that isn't enough to get you two together, I honestly don't know what is. You're freaking hopeless."

"She really likes me?"

Kid and Patty have to hold Liz back when she tries to launch herself at Soul, snapping and snarling. Wryly, Kid says, "Well, she might be rethinking that right about now after what you just said to her."

"Good," snaps Liz, "he'd deserve it, the idiotic fool! It'd serve you right if she fell in love with someone else and made you realize what a JACKASS you've been!"

Soul blinks. Realizes what he'd just said to Maka moments before she ran away in tears. He turns paper white. "Shit," he whispers, and then he's running, ignoring the calls of his friends behind him, ignoring Black Star's obnoxious calls of "GO GET HER, SOUL! STICK IT TO HER GOOD!"

He can kick the assassin's ass later.

It's moments like these when he realizes just how much he relies on Maka's soul perception when he's resonating with her. Finding people when she's not there to sense them is impossible—even when the soul he's trying to find is his meister's. He realizes all too late that she's blocking him. She's _been_ blocking him.

How long has she been blocking him?

He searches for hours. First their home, then the school, even the freaking library which he hasn't willingly stepped foot in _ever_ —but she's nowhere to be found. With each passing minute, his shame and anxiety blossoms into a full-fledged panic as his stupid mind instantly jumps to the worst possible scenarios: she was in an accident, she was attacked, she's hurt, killed, captured, raped—he chokes on this thought, on the flashing remnants of his nightmares, has to stop walking to catch his breath with the force that this possibility hurts him—and he can't breathe.

Soul checks the infirmary, but he doesn't find her there either.

If she's hurt because he drove her away, he will never forgive himself.

By the time he returns to their apartment for the third time, it's night and the black moon is high in the sky, nearly invisible but also somehow laughing at him. Gritting his teeth, he glares up at the hideous, gigantic thing, and on the way down, his eyes catch sight of a light flicking on inside their apartment.

He rushes inside so fast he nearly breaks down the fucking door. Maka pauses at the front closet, in the middle of hanging her coat up, and when she sees him, her face flickers but gives nothing away except a small, tired smile.

"Hey, Soul. You just getting in, too?" The fact that she's acting so casual, even though he hurt her, even though she's obviously been crying from the redness of her eyes and the dampness of her cheeks—it hurts him.

In an instant, he's in front of her, yanking her into his chest. He holds her so tightly he must be hurting her and yet he can't bear to release his grip.

She startles in his arms but thankfully doesn't pull away. "Soul?" she asks tentatively. "Are you okay?"

He bites back a sharp laugh. Typical Maka. Worrying about him even though he's a dirty fucking asshole. He pulls back to look at her, and she's so damn pretty, even as tired as she looks, and he almost can't help it. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Where the hell have you been?"

"Oh." Her green eyes dim slightly, her smile weary and small. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to worry you. I was just walking around for a bit."

His brows pull together. "Walking around? For six hours?"

She blinks. Looks down. "Just lost in thought, I guess. You know me; scatterbrained bookworm. Didn't realize how late it had gotten until I started to feel the chill."

Now that she mentions it, he notices with a shock how cold her skin is to the touch. He hadn't noticed at first because he was quite chilly himself, but she's a fraction of his size, wearing half what he is. It's no wonder she's fucking freezing. He can feel a lump rising in his throat—guilt, strong and suffocating, mixed with something else—and he tries to swallow so he can say, "I'm sorry."

Maka shakes her head. Pulls away from him, mentally and physically, and it's like water immediately rushes in to fill the space, because all of a sudden he finds it impossible to breathe. "I'm going to head to bed," she says to the ground. "Tired, you know?"

"O-okay," he whispers. "Here, let me just get changed and I'll join—"

"Actually, I think—I'm really tired, Soul. Maybe we should stay in our own rooms tonight?"

His eyes burn. He hasn't slept in his own bed for weeks, and he doesn't want to start now, not when she looks like this, not when he _feels_ like this. "Maka, please."

She forces a smile, still not looking at him. "Goodnight, Soul."

"Maka—"

* * *

She pretends everything is okay but he's dying with how much she avoids him.

They still interact. She's never cold, always polite, with tired smiles and kind pleasantries. He sits beside her in class and she makes him dinner every night. They freaking _live_ together, for Death's sake. And yet somehow, despite seeing each other so often, they don't see each other at all and it's the most agonizing torture he can imagine, being so close to her and yet so far away at the same time.

It doesn't help that he still works with Kid on his time off and Maka's taken to teaching extra lessons on the side instead, resigned to the fact that Soul doesn't have the time for her anymore. He promises her they'll take a mission together soon and she nods her head, but they both know she doesn't believe him.

Their friends say they aren't taking sides, but Soul isn't stupid. They all know this is his fault. He can see it in the way they watch him, almost pityingly, like _poor, pathetic Soul, pushing the girl he loves away and can't find the balls to fix it._

He hates himself.

He can't breathe without her. Why can't she see that?

"Maka?" he calls as soon as he walks through the front door, the same way he always does when he gets home late from a meeting. There have been issues with the Witch's Alliance lately and dealing with the untimely backlash has been more tiring than any of them expected.

Silence greets him in their apartment. Even Blair is gone, having taken a late-night shift at Chupa Cabra.

"Maka?" he tries again, tentatively. He doesn't see the note until he walks into the kitchen and it takes much longer than it should for the words to register in his brain.

 _Hey Soul,_

 _I won't be home tonight. Don't wait up._

 _Maka_

His throat tightens. What the fuck? Is that all she has to say? Where is she? What is she doing? Who is she with? His mind filters through all the years they've lived together, and Soul realizes with a start that he's never not known where she was before—not once. Certainly not overnight.

They're partners—best friends; _more_ than that—and even when they weren't together (which wasn't often), he always, _always_ knew where she was, and vice versa. Maybe it's a little codependent of him to think so, but there's no way she can believe for a second that disappearing without warning, without telling him, even for a night, is okay.

Or is he overreacting? Did he really fuck up so much the other week that she doesn't think he cares enough to want to know that she's safe?

He's dialing on his cell before he can think better of it. She doesn't answer her phone, silencing it two rings in, and when he calls again, it goes straight to voice mail. He lets himself feel it like a punch to the gut for one long moment before he's dialing another number.

"SOUL, MY MAN!" crows Black Star. "What's—?"

"Is Maka there with you?" Soul interrupts, not even bothering to pretend to be cool. He's too anxious and jittery to keep up any façade, even for a moment. He needs to know where she is. There's no way in hell he'll be able to sleep without knowing.

There's a long pause. "Is she not at your apartment?"

"No, I'm just calling for shits and giggles— _of course she's not fucking home_ ," he snaps. "Do you have any idea where she is?"

"Bro, calm down. I'm sure she's—"

"Put Tsubaki on the phone."

"What?"

"You clearly don't know anything, so I want to talk to Tsubaki," Soul growls. "Put her on the phone."

There's a lot of babble and grumbling about disrespecting his god on the other end of the line, but thankfully, Black Star does what he says. "Soul? Are you alright?" Tsubaki's voice is gentle and concerned, even solely in audio, but it's still not enough to calm him down.

"Do you know where Maka is? She wasn't home when I got back from campus, and she left this cryptic note saying she'd be gone all night and—"

"Gone all night?" Black Star interrupts with a cackle, his voice muffled in the background but still painfully audible. "Wow, bookworm sure moves fast!"

"Black Star," Tsubaki hisses, then quickly adds to Soul, "Don't worry, I'm sure it's not like that."

"Not like what?" Soul demands desperately. "What do you know? What are you hiding from me?"

There's another long pause, this one filled with uncertainty. "I really shouldn't say anything. It's not my place to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"What else?" Black Star cackles. "Our Maks is clearly growing up, finally trading her v-card for something more appropriate now that she—"

"BLACK STAR!" Tsubaki shrieks. There's a loud bang, a grunt, then a hushed, "Soul, I'm so sorry."

Patience is lost on Soul. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?"

"I didn't think she'd actually go through with it," the shadow weapon says quietly. "It's just—she's been feeling so down lately, and you two are barely together anymore and people have noticed. She hasn't shown any interest in any of them before, but—"

"Them?" Soul echoes. "Who the hell are you talking about?"

"Fourth years from the other classes, mostly. Some fifth years, even a couple sixth years. They've always watched Maka, been really nice to her, especially after she made you into a Death Scythe and they started to notice her, but since you haven't been around to scare them off lately, they've been getting bolder. Hanging around after class. Being there while she studies." A pause. "Asking her out."

"…WHAT."

"Maka's never responded to them before," Tsubaki adds quickly. "She usually laughs it off. I think she assumes they're joking, never serious. She always rolls her eyes when Liz teases her about it, saying that there's no way they meant it and that they were just being friendly."

 _Because of_ me. _Because I've been telling her for years that she's not attractive, that no man would ever want her, and she thinks that's the truth_. Soul wants to claw his own throat out. "You think she's on a date with one of them now?"

"I know that she was asked to go to a book conference in Rochester with one of the senior students tonight. I didn't think she would actually go, but I don't know where else she'd be if she's not with either of us or Kid. I'm sure she won't do anything rash though," Tsubaki adds when Soul doesn't say anything. "She's—I mean, it's Maka we're talking about. She's the most responsible person I know. If she's gone overnight, it's only because the conference is supposed to go late and it'd be reckless to ride back from Rochester when it's that dark."

"Yeah, for sure." Soul is dying. He's trying to keep it casual, but he can barely breathe. "I—I've gotta go. Thanks, Tsu."

Needless to say, Soul doesn't sleep that night.

 **iii.**

Maka tries to sneak in around eight the next morning, and if Soul were a better man, he would let her.

He is not a better man.

"Hey."

With a startled shriek, Maka whirls around to see Soul sitting on the couch, one hand pressed against her chest like her heart may leap out and the other dropping her bag on the ground with a thud. The sun has been up for a while, but he's been in too much of a mood to deal with any sort of light, so he's been sitting in the dark for hours. Waiting. Watching. Stewing.

He is angry. And she can feel it.

"S-Soul," she breathes, her green eyes wide as she stares at him. She glances around helplessly, seeming at a loss of what to do. "What are you doing up this early?"

"What do you think?" he asks coldly. "Making sure my meister gets home safely. That's what a good weapon does, isn't it?"

"Oh, Soul, you didn't have to do that. I told you not to wait up for me."

"Yeah, well, clearly I'm not good at doing what I'm told." He rises to his feet, approaching her slowly, his gaze so intense that she actually widens her eyes and stumbles back from him, looking alarmed. "So how was he?"

Her brows pull together. "What?"

"How was he?" Soul repeats cruelly. "Was he good to you? Gentle? Did he take it slow? Treat you like a lady? Tell you you're beautiful and that he loves you and that you'll be together forever if you let him have you? Because it's all lies, you know. That's just something guys say to get laid. They don't mean any of it. They'd tell you anything to get inside of you."

Maka sucks in a sharp breath as he comes to a stop in front of her, cornering her against the wall, one hand resting against the board beside her head. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Your date last night—you fucked him, didn't you? Or at least planned to? That's why you're trying to sneak into our apartment at the ass crack of dawn after being out all night, isn't it?" He sneers down at her. "To be honest, I'm a little disappointed. I didn't think you'd be the kind of girl who'd give it up on a first date."

"You—you—!" She's practically vibrating with rage. The only reason he suspects she hasn't hit him with a Maka Chop yet is because her fists are clenched so tightly she wouldn't be able to pick up a book if she tried. "You fucking asshole!" she finally shrieks.

"Well, apparently you're a bit of a slut, so I guess this partnership still evens out, doesn't it?"

SLAP!

In hindsight, he should've expected that—was probably gunning for it on purpose, needing that physical pain to go with the devastating agony in his chest—but he definitely doesn't expect her tears.

They fall down her cheeks in rivers, these thick, crystalline pools that gush and gut him, staining her red cheeks as she shakes so violently she looks about ready to burst—and he realizes with a horrifying awareness that she hadn't been shaking with rage, but with _hurt_.

"You _asshole_ ," she chokes out again, but this time the words are garbled around a sob, so broken that they're barely intelligible, and Soul feels like a deer in the headlights, staring at the girl he loves so much as she cries for the second time in weeks because of something he'd done.

It's like the earth sinks into hell around him. "M… Maka, I—" He shakes, trembles, wants to touch her but knows he doesn't deserve it. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"I was with _Kilik_ , you jerk." Before he has a chance to process that, she continues, "We were planning your fucking birthday."

His. Heart. Stops.

"I don't know what it's like where you're from, but around these parts, a sweet sixteen is a big deal. I wanted to do something special for you. We decided a surprise party would be fun." She rubs furiously at her wet eyes with tiny, trembling fists. "It's next weekend and we've been trying to figure things out during the day but there's never enough time and it's hard to keep things a secret from everyone else without being obvious about it—especially since we can't tell Tsu because she'll tell Star and then Star will tell the whole world—so I went over to his place with Harvar, Ox, Kim, and Jackie to figure out the details. We were going to go to Kid today to ask him to let us use the great hall."

Which is why Kid didn't know anything when Soul texted him last night, and why Ox and Kim both lied and feigned ignorance.

Soul is such an asshole. Here he was, selfishly lashing out at his meister when she's been going out of her way to plan an amazing party for him even though he had hurt her only weeks before. He made her cry and she's still doing all this for him, and instead of appreciating her for it, he makes her cry again.

He really is the most pathetic weapon on the planet. "Maka, I… I didn't know—"

"Yeah, well. That's kind of the point of surprise party." She's clearly trying to act tough, but her attempt at punishing him back doesn't work when she's still crying so profusely. "I'm sorry, I just… I'm sorry," she blurts out as she ducks her head to hide the tears that rush down her cheeks. She pushes past him to run off in the direction of her bedroom and he should let her, stop being selfish, stop hurting her, let her go—but he grabs her arm before he can stop himself, preventing her from leaving him.

"Wait," he means to say, but what comes out instead is, "I love you."

They both freeze. Maka chokes. "What?"

He should take it back. He knows this. It's not the right time, they've been fighting, she deserves better, he shouldn't bombard her like this—and yet, he can't make himself deny the words, can't pretend anymore, not when everything is so wrong and has been so wrong because she doesn't know. And so he looks into her stunned green eyes and does the most difficult thing he's ever done:

He tells the truth.

"I love you." The words taste foreign on his tongue—that's when he realizes he doesn't think he's ever said those words, not even to his parents or brother—but he can't stop here. "I've loved you for years, and not like a friend, or a partner, or a best friend, though you are all of those things—but as more than that. Maka, I'm in love with you."

"Soul, you can't—you can't say things like this," she whispers. "Not if you don't mean it."

"But I do mean it, don't you get it? And I fucking hate that you think I don't." He swallows, his eyes downcast, staring at where his fingers are still wrapped around her wrist, and he forces his gaze upward as he speaks. "I'm an idiot. An asshole. A jerk. You're right. I've loved you forever, and instead of telling you, I've made you think not only that I don't love you but that nobody else possibly could—and I hate myself for it, but I still love you, and these past couple weeks… They've been _hell_.

"I mean, we live in the same house and you can barely stand to look at me." He lets out a low, dark laugh. "I know I deserve it. I've fucked up so much lately, I don't even know which side is up, but I can't let you go. I need you, Maka—I need you so much. And I know that this is the worst possible time for me to tell you this and the worst possible way, but I want… I'm _begging_ you to give me another chance. To show you what I really feel, and not that pathetic knee-jerk reaction I've had since I was twelve.

"Will you let me?" he whispers. "Will you let me make it up to you? Love you? I'll do anything at all. Please, Maka."

"Soul, I…" Her voice cracks. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"You don't have to say anything," he says quickly. "Just… let me be here? With you? I don't care in what capacity, I don't care if you don't feel the same way—I just need to be with you. Please."

"You silly boy," she whispers, voice cracking, and he has just enough time to see more tears rush down her face as she throws herself into his arms and cries. Fists locked in his shirt, stuttered breaths suffocated against his chest, bony shoulders hunched in as if to hide her heart.

He holds her. Tightly, like he'll never let her go. She's crying and he holds her and everything's a mess and they're both hurting—but he feels relief, so immense and powerful it nearly drowns him, and he lets them have this because it's been a long time coming.

For hours, he holds her.

She continues to cry.

* * *

It's a tentative thing, this truce of theirs. It's more than before they fought the night he confessed, but it's also somehow less than before as well, because she's so hesitant around him. Not quite wary, but shy. She keeps sneaking glances at him when she doesn't think he's looking and blushing whenever he gets too close, as if they hadn't spent their entire partnership with no sense of personal space in the first place.

It's really fucking cute.

It's also really fucking frustrating.

Maka turns fifteen weeks later, and when she blows out her candles, Soul wants to kiss her so badly that Liz notices the look on his face and elbows him in the side to bring him back to earth. Soul turns even redder at the sympathy in the other weapon's eyes and he spends the rest of Maka's party avoiding her gaze.

He doesn't know how much longer he can take this, walking on eggshells, not knowing where he stands or what he can and can't do.

Then one day, after a particularly grueling meeting with Kid and the Witch Order, Soul stumbles into their apartment to find Maka reading on the couch—and she looks so small, so casual, so sweet, that he forgets, momentarily, he doesn't have any right to touch her as he crawls onto the sofa and drops his head in her lap with a grunt.

They both freeze. Soul is certain he's going to get Maka Chopped, or at least shoved off.

Instead, she shifts her book onto the arm of the chair and doesn't say a word.

They stay like that for a long time. Eventually, she absentmindedly plays with his hair. Soul drowns in bliss. He never wants to move, never wants to leave the safe sanctuary that is Maka's lap. For a girl as scrawny as she is, her thighs are creamy soft, like silk against his cheek. At one point, he catches her smiling softly down at him and he has to count to a hundred in his head to keep his heart from bursting from his chest.

His stomach betrays him first, and she giggles—actually giggles—at the look of pure unhappiness that crosses his face.

"Come on," she practically croons, brushing her soft, tiny fingers against his cheek when he refuses to budge. "Get up and I'll make you something to eat."

The grumbling sounds that escape his throat are wholly unintelligible and completely indicative of what he wants, which definitely isn't to move away from her.

Smiling softly, Maka lifts his hand to her mouth and very gently presses a kiss to the ridge of his knuckles, feather-light, before easing his head off her lap and onto one of the sofa cushions. "Go ahead and close your eyes for a bit, okay? I'll wake you up when dinner is ready."

Though he forces his eyes closed, Soul is not able to rest for even a second, too stunned and distracted by the ghost of her soft lips against his hand.

* * *

It takes him way too long to work up the nerve to kiss her for real.

He wants to. Oh, he wants to so badly that he finds himself spacing out in the middle of the day while staring at her, just imagining what it would be like to for once in his life do the thing he wants to do instead of the thing he should and just kiss the hell out of her. It distracts him enough that even Kid comments on it during a meeting, and Soul is too off his game to play it cool and pretend she's not the center of his everything.

"Just man up and plant one on her, bro," Black Star tells him one day when their friend confronts him on the state of his and Maka's non-relationship and he admits that he's having trouble. "Be a god like me! Take control! Chicks dig that shit!"

Liz snickers at the look of disgust on Soul's face at Black Star's very enthusiastic demonstration with a water canister. "As much as I hate to admit it, Black Star is right. You need to stop chickening out and just go for it, Soul. Maka definitely won't complain; she's been waiting on you forever."

"She's never said anything!"

"Yeah, because you constantly remind her that she's not pretty or good enough to attract any guy, let alone a so-called boob man like you." Liz snorts. "Face it: you created this problem and you have to be the one to fix it. How it happens is entirely up to you."

Hours later, he sits on the couch in their apartment, watching as Maka scribbles endlessly in her notebook with one hand while flipping through a massive textbook with her other. Her hair is surprisingly released from her typical braid, the soft waves long enough that they brush the middle of her back.

It's no wonder she's so small when she spends all her time training or studying so hard she forgets to eat. Too many times to count, he'll find her at a table where she hasn't moved for hours, or he'll remain in weapon form until the sun goes down as she strikes at the air, perfecting her moves, only halting when he begs her to stop for a break because he's _hungry_ , it's been forever, why isn't she?

It becomes a job of his, one he takes of his own determination to keep her fed on a decent schedule. He is sure to make her soup when she's wrapped up to hell in a book or fix her a cup of tea when she's too stressed to breathe, let alone grab a glass of water.

He complains about it often, how it shouldn't be his job to watch over her like a parent, but secretly he likes it. Taking care of her. He likes knowing she needs him for something, something that no one else sees.

"Soul? Are you okay?"

He jerks to attention to see Maka staring at him with furrowed brows. Heat rushes to his cheeks knowing that he's been caught being a creep for the nth time this week, but it's so damn hard not to when she looks as fucking cute as she does with those big green eyes and pouty pink lips.

God, he wants to kiss her so bad. Should he follow Star and Liz's advice and just plant one on her, consequences be damned? Will she kiss him back? Push him away? Smash his head in with that terrifying textbook she's been studying for the past few hours?

"Soul?"

Fuck it. He can't do this anymore; can't pretend he isn't dying for her like everyone else knows he is. Look where it got him the last time he feigned being uninterested. Shoving to his feet, Soul marches towards her like a man on a mission, and something in his expression must be alarming because Maka practically jumps out of her chair, taking two jerky steps back before planting her feet while very much looking like a girl who wants to run.

"Soul, what are you—?"

He grabs her by the shoulders and—

Stops. Stares.

What the fuck is he doing? He's going to force her to kiss him out of the blue, all because he's too needy and impatient to wait for the right moment? To let it happen organically? Is he really going to sink this low? He loves Maka more than he's ever loved anything else and that has always been his deepest secret, but the reason he hid it for so long wasn't because he was ashamed of his feelings or uncertain about them—Death knows there was no doubt when it came to his love for her.

No, he hid his heart because he was scared to _lose_ her. To push her too far. To scare her off. To ruin the one good thing in his life by jumping the gun and forcing her to do something before she was ready. Now that he knows that she cares for him too, it's easy to throw those insecurities aside and risk everything for a chance to have the girl of his dreams, but that doesn't dissuade the fact that there was a good reason he moved with such caution before and that's because Maka is the Real Deal. His soulmate.

And you don't force things with the girl you want to spend the rest of your life with.

Relaxing his hold on her, Soul exhales deeply and steps back, equal parts ashamed of his behavior and relieved that he managed to stop things before they went too far. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just… I'm a fucking idiot. Go back to studying. I'll make you some tea."

Soul moves around her to head to the kitchen, only to be stopped by her tugging on his shirt, holding him back.

Glancing back with a frown, he starts to ask what she's doing, if something's wrong, when he realizes that she's leaning forward on her tiptoes to press her lips against his.

Shock widens his eyes. Amazement registers the feeling of her soft lips against his. Then instinct kicks in and his hands are in her hair, one tangling through the soft waves at the back of her neck while the other presses under her waterfall of hair into her lower back as he kisses her back like a man starved, like this is a dream, like he's finally getting everything he's ever wanted and doesn't care if it's real or not so long as she's here.

After a moment, she pulls back, settling back on her heels, her gaze averted from his and her cheeks flushed so beautifully pink that he wants to drag his tongue across her skin and lick her all over. Her hands are still pressed against his chest and he's holding her body so closely pressed against him that he knows she must feel his growing erection, but she doesn't pull away. She just blushes more.

"S-sorry," she stutters. "I, um… I didn't mean to jump you like that. I was just tired of waiting."

"Waiting?" he blurts dumbly.

Maka lifts her tentative green eyes to meet crimson, and by the gods, she's the cutest fucking thing he's ever seen. "You're always watching me but you never do anything about it. I keep waiting for you to do something, to act on what you told me all those weeks ago, but you barely even touch me beyond what we're used to."

"H-hold up! Are you saying you've been waiting for me to kiss you all this time?"

She nibbles on her bottom lip. "I thought that was obvious?"

He balks. "I—you—but—how—"

A small giggle escapes her throat. "Wow, Liz said you were oblivious, but I didn't think it was this bad."

"LIZ SAID THAT?"

"Yeah, she's been giving me advice. I told her I just wanted you to throw me down and kiss me silly, and she said you lack basic social cues and wouldn't know what I wanted if I had a neon sign hanging from my forehead."

"…WHAT."

This time Maka full out laughs, like deep in her belly laughs. Apparently the dumbfounded look on his face is enough to cure her chronic blush because her smile is wide and unembarrassed as she leans back to beam at him. "You're a bit slow, aren't you?"

"I—I—says _you_ ," he yelps defensively. "How was I supposed to know you wanted to kiss me? I've been a total jerk lately and you have every right to hate my guts and you're always looking so goddamn innocent, like I can't even _think_ about touching you without feeling like I'm going to hell, and—OH MY GOD, STOP LAUGHING AT ME."

She's shaking so hard that she's like a silent phone against his chest, and as much as he wants to keep whining, it's really fucking hard to maintain a disgruntled expression when she's staring at him with those sweet green eyes so affectionate and soft. Placing a hand against his cheek, she leans up to kiss him lightly on the tip of his nose before murmuring, "I love you, Soul. So, so, so much. Even if you are an idiot sometimes."

Growling under his breath, he scoops her up over his shoulder, ignoring her surprised squeals of excitement as he carries her out of the room and heads to her bedroom that he's also claimed as his. He'll show her who's not slow _or_ an idiot when it comes to kissing if it's the last thing he does.

Sometime during their make-out session, he thinks he hears her sigh "finally" under her breath, but he doesn't know for sure. After all, he's been thinking the same thing over and over again so it might just be him projecting.

* * *

It's no surprise that Liz is the first one who notices that things are different between them, only a week after their first kiss (and several long, exploratory make out sessions later). It's also no surprise that she says something about it.

"FINALLY!" Liz cries after she sees Maka blush an adorable thanks when Soul pulls her chair out for her at lunch one day. "We've only been waiting for this to happen forever!"

Black Star throws his pop can against the ground so hard it explodes. "Damn it! I was one month off!"

"Pay uuuupp," Patty sings while tipping back her chair and waving her hand in front of Black Star's face.

Soul turns bright red. "You guys bet on the state of mine and Maka's relationship?! So not cool."

"Yeah, yeah, who cares about that." Liz waves that off. "I need details: how did it happen, _when_ did it happen, who made the first move, etcetera… Actually, scratch that last question because we all know Maka's the only one with the balls among you two to actually make the first move."

"HEY!"

"It's official thought, right?" the tall, blond-haired pistol weapon presses. "Like, you guys are actually dating? No more of this agonizing dancing around each other's feelings crap where Soul pines like a baby and Maka is too scared to ask what's real and what's not?"

He and Maka exchange a look. Soul's face softens considerably. "Yeah," he says quietly, reaching out to grab Maka's tiny hand in his. "It's real. Maka's my girlfriend and I'm not letting go for anything."

Liz, Patty, and Tsubaki all squeal excitedly at his announcement, and even Kid in all his newfound seriousness looks pleased. "It's about damn time."

* * *

It isn't until they have sex for the first time that he realizes just how much he's scarred her soul—and not in the good way.

It isn't some impromptu bang session; it isn't a spur-of-the-moment fuck fueled by adrenaline or urgency. It's planned, marked on his calendar and everything, because as much as he wants it, he wants her to be sure even more, too scared of rushing her—of screwing this up—that his hands physically tremble as he asks her again and again if she's certain.

She's barely a year younger than him, only fifteen, but it still feels so unbearably young, and he knows he should wait, but he _can't help it_ , he loves her so damn much. And she wants him, too, somehow, this awkward, anxious boy who's tried so hard to act cool all these years that he's ended up hurting the one person he never wanted to harm.

"Are you sure?" he whispers for the millionth time.

Maka smiles against his lips. "Yes, Soul. I'm sure. I love you."

Sweetest words he's ever heard in his life.

They've spent so much of the past few weeks kissing that he knows everything about how to make her tick: how she has a soft spot on the side of her neck that extends up her jawline and to the lobe of her ear; the sounds she makes when he runs his hand up her side and presses his erection into the inviting space between her legs where her tantalizing thighs meet.

Soul used to think he wasn't like every other hot-blooded teenage male that only thought about sex: where, how much, with whom, what position. Aside from surpassing god, it would be all Black Star would talk about and Soul would often roll his eyes at his friend's antics and tune out the crude details the blue-haired idiot would try to force upon him.

Apparently he was wrong. Lately, he's been worse than Black Star ever was.

In his defense, it's not his fault. How can he possibly think of anything else when Maka is writhing beneath him, breathy moans escaping from her perfect, swollen lips, her skin flushed as he kisses his way down her chest with his mouth and his tongue and at times even his teeth? She's especially vocal when he drags the sharp edges of his incisors across the prominent ridge of her collar bone, and the resulting whimper as he does it now is enough to nearly undo him.

"Soul," she gasps, and the sound of his name on her lips when he has her like this is almost too much. He wants inside her with a ferocity that stuns him, wants to rip off those pretty white lace panties and find a home in her, claim her, mark her with his skin and his sweat so she'll never forget him, not ever, because he knows without a doubt in his mind that she'll be branded on his soul for as long as he may live.

"Fuck, Maka. _Fuck_." He practically trembles with desire as he moves his hands up the outsides of her thighs to her hips to the fluttery edge of her shirt. "I need—"

"W-wait!"

Soul freezes.

"I—um," she says, and flushes deep, avoiding his eyes. "I'm not… I just… can we turn off the lights first?"

His brows yank together in the middle as he stares down at her, unable to comprehend the look on her face and hating that he can't. "You want the lights off for our first time? I thought… I mean, I'd like to see you, if that's alright, and it'd probably be easier if we could see what we were doing."

"I-I know, I just…"

"Hey, are you okay?" He pulls back slightly, suddenly worried. "If you really want to turn the lights off, you know I'd do absolutely anything you asked. Will you just tell me why? Please?"

Her face is red, very red, and she still won't meet his eyes. "It's—it's nothing."

"Maka, sweetheart, you're scaring me. Please don't hide like that. This won't work if you don't talk to me."

She looks ready to cry, and his gentle words only seem to make it worse. Suddenly anxious, Soul begins to pull back, in no way okay with the prospect of touching her when she's clearly this upset, but she stops him before he can get far and blurts out, "I'm not pretty."

It's like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. His entire body freezes up from head to toe like he's a cage over her tiny body, and all he can think is, _What the fuck?_

"I just—I'm not pretty, I know I'm not, and I'm okay with it, really—it doesn't bother me at all—but I'm scared you haven't thought this through all the way and you'll change your mind when you see me. I know you like bigger girls and I'm—I'm small, really small, Soul, and I just, I won't be able to take it if you flinch away when you look at me, I can't, I'm not that strong." She's trembling beneath him like a leaf in a storm and her eyes are glistening wet, even in the dim lighting, and she's so scared that it's physically hurting him because _what the ever-living_ fuck _is she saying?_ "I just—I can't," she cries, and this time she has to bring up her hands to her face to wipe away the tears she's unable to hold back. "I'm sorry. I just don't want you to be disappointed."

He _can't breathe_. Can't. Fucking. _Breathe_. All those other times from before when he'd hurt her and she'd cried or run away from him, they have nothing on this moment right here where he's lying on top of the girl of his dreams—the girl he's loved forever—and she's so scared to take her shirt off in front of him with the light on because she thinks he'll be _disappointed_.

For a moment, this all feels so absurd that he might laugh, but his lungs are frozen as are his body and mind because he knows deep down inside that this is not a joke. This is not a nightmare. This is reality, a reality in which he has berated the girl he loves so much that she has developed the ridiculous belief that she isn't fucking good enough. For _him_.

Soul is not stupid. He knows this is on him, that it's his fault. He knows that years of calling her Tiny Tits, of making fun of her "fat" ankles, of saying she's ugly and has no sex appeal and that no man could ever want her—it's left a scar. A big one. One he knew existed before but never knew the extent of until now.

If there's ever been a moment when he hated himself enough to want to erase his existence, it's now. It's staring down at the most beautiful girl in the world as she cries under his arms because he's made her feel like she's not _pretty_. That she isn't his sun and moon and stars and everything else that's bright and wonderful in his life. That she isn't everything at all.

"Maka." Her name is choked on his lips, throttled, wretched, horrible, cruel. "Fuck, Maka, you—"

"Please don't," she blurts out. "It's not—I don't care that I'm not pretty, I really don't, and I definitely don't want to hear you pretend to make me feel better before we have sex. I just… I wanted to warn you. If you want to stop, I get it. I understand. I do. Please, just… Please don't lie to me."

Soul wants to tear his heart out and paint his apologies on the sky so she'll see them, but he can't even speak, let alone move. He wants to grab her by the shoulders and make her listen to him, make her hear him as he explains how he's just a stupid kid who didn't know how to deal with his crush on his meister so he resorted to playground insults and horrible negging to hide his feelings and prevent her from seeing any other guy because he was too insecure to risk losing her when someone better came along. He wants to tell her she's so fucking pretty he can't _stand_ it, so fucking pretty that he can't think about anything else most days and it consumes him all the time at inopportune moments when he should be doing a million other things.

Because how can this be real? How can she really think these things? How can she not see that she's his everything and that she's made it a million times easier to breathe when he thought he was drowning? That she's saved him, again and again, first from his family, then from the black blood, then from everything else in the world that tried to drag them down?

Doesn't she understand how much he loves her? Doesn't she get how perfect she is to him?

He must be staring at her in disbelief one heartbeat too many because she starts to retreat, pull back into herself, but he won't let her, not this time.

The first kiss stalls her movements, make her freeze.

The second kiss steals her breath and melts her body, makes her pudding beneath his touch.

The third kiss erases everything. And after that, they both stop counting.

Soul is not good with words. He never has been. His anxiety, coupled with a crippling need to appear cool even when he's the freaking center of the earth on the inside, makes it impossible for him to put his true feelings into words, even more so when it actually matters.

So he shows her instead. With his lips against hers. With his eyes marking her skin when he bares her. With his touch caressing her perfect, perky breasts—breasts she somehow thinks are not good enough for him—to show her just how much she arouses him. He shows her more and more with each article of clothing they discard, with each gasp he pulls from her sweet lips, until all that's left are murmured breaths asking for confirmation, and then he's pushing-pushing-pushing deep inside her.

There's no breaking of barriers like fiction tells him or a gushing of blood or anything like that. There's just pressure, so much pressure, and white-hot ecstasy as his cock slides inch after inch into her warm, wet core. She's crying out and gripping his shoulders and begging for _more_ — _oh God, Soul, you're so big, I can't take it, more more more_ —and he has never felt this good before in his entire life and he knows he won't last long but neither of them care.

They are one. And nothing has ever felt so right.

She is beautiful. And he makes sure she knows it.

* * *

They are both addicts. Every moment they're not together, he is thinking about it. And every moment they are together, he's inside her.

On their couch, on the kitchen counter, in the shower, on the floor, even in the fucking science lab on campus during their lunch period. Even Liz and Black Star no longer tease them about it because they're openly disgusted by how often Soul needs to have his hands on Maka and how Maka never denies him anything anymore, least of all if it includes his hips against hers.

"Jeez, get a room," Black Star whines when Soul fails to look away from his girl for more than a second during their lunch period, claiming it's making it hard to digest food.

"Okay," Soul says instantly. He stands up and holds an arm out towards Maka, who blushes furiously but does not complain as she takes his hand.

Their friends explode into a chorus of groans and complaints when Soul leads Maka away, but the scythemeister and weapon don't care. They don't even look back.

They find an empty broom closet and make very good use of the lock.

* * *

Life is good. Amazing. Fantastic. Like a freaking dream.

As much as Soul doesn't want to jinx it, he can't help but think that his life is pretty damn perfect every time the girl he loves wraps her arms around his stomach from behind when he makes her breakfast in the morning, or when she falls asleep on his lap curled over him like a tiny, adorable kitten. He can't help but thank all the gods that exist—life and Death alike—that she's so open with her need for affection because he wants her wrapped around him probably twice as much as she does (at least) but he's always too shy to ask for it himself.

He's getting better, of course. Now he pulls her to sit in his lap so he can nuzzle her neck whenever they do anything, and he no longer hesitates before he brushes her hair back from her face when she's so focused on her books that she doesn't notice. You'd think he'd be used to it by now, being affectionate with her—after all, they spend every night naked in her bed—but his stomach still floods with butterflies every time she so much as smiles at him and his face seems perpetually crimson with every single kiss.

Sure, he and Maka still can't find the time to do extended missions together. Sure, they've become quite comfortable with her staying at home teaching extra lessons to NOT students while Soul runs through witch meetings with Kid in increasing frequency. And sure, their schedules are often jam-packed to the minute some days where long nights in their apartment are the only sanctuary he has from the rest of the world.

Things may be a little busier than he'd like and he can't work with Maka as much as he'd want to, but they're trying. Every day, they're trying. And at least they're both still in Death City all the time. At least they can still be together. That's all that matters, isn't it? That they can be together even when the rest of the world is going to shit?

He should've known better.

Nothing stays this perfect for long.

It all starts from one well-meaning but cataclysmic order from the new Lord Death: Maka is to choose a new weapon partner and start going on missions again to help out with the swelling amount of pre-kishin souls arising across the globe.

That order is the beginning of the end.

* * *

 **A/N:** _this is actually the beginning part of a much longer, much larger post-manga fic (which is already over 50k words in my docs because clearly i am CRAZY), but it's intense and convoluted and filled with tons of heartache, so i'll probably just keep this as a one-shot of fluff and minor angst. you can thank me later._

 _xo_  
 _chloe_


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